


Something Good

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Doggy Style, F/F, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Rough Sex, Strap-On, canon AU, canonverse, from behind, strap-on sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: True to her word, Clarke accepts everything Lexa has. All the violence, all the pain, all the frustration. She takes it all and more, and turns it into howls of pleasure that echo around their bedroom. Lexa is in awe of this woman, this goddess, who can take her rage and transform it into something beautiful. Something good. Something as perfect as she is.





	Something Good

**Author's Note:**

> This is my final smutcation piece! Hope you enjoy. The prompt was, "Lexa has a terrible day and Clarke offers to help her out with very rough sex".
> 
> As always, I'm @raedmagdon on tumblr and twitter.

Lexa stalks the hall at a brisk pace, heading for her private chambers with fire burning in her belly. 

‘Horrible day’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. The endless meetings; the circular arguments; the sheer stubbornness, even insolence, of the clan representatives. Integrating  _ Skaikru _ into the coalition has been anything but easy. Each time she solves one problem, another arises almost immediately.

As  _ Heda, _ she knows controlling her emotions is paramount. She has practiced the art of burying them from an early age, in preparation for her role. Leaders are servants of their people first and foremost, no matter their personal feelings. But now, frustration and resentment brew inside her, beating at her breast along with the thump of her heart.

_ If they would just see reason! All the clans will grow in strength if we accept  _ Skaikru _ and the things of value they can offer. _

But some of the ambassadors can’t, or won’t, see it. Trapped in the old ways, blinded by ancient traditions as well as recent grudges, they consider everything and everyone not of themselves to be a threat. Something to be defended against at best, conquered at worst. To them, war is an inevitability rather than a choice, but she will not be forced to choose war. Not this time.

Part of her wishes she could go to war, though. Wishes she could solve her problems with her fists or her sword, rather than merely using her words and the force of her Spirit’s authority. Although it’s a hypocritical solution, it would be so much easier.

Lost in thought, it takes Lexa a moment to notice where she is. It’s early afternoon, and she has another meeting scheduled in half a candlemark, but instead of finding a meal–which she badly needs, judging by the hunger pains in her stomach–she has returned to her bedroom. Or, more accurately, she has returned to Clarke, who often takes afternoon naps after lunch when she isn’t needed for more pressing business. She suspects that is the case today, because she hears soft noises beyond the door.

_ I should let her be, _ Lexa thinks.  _ I should not inflict myself on her in such a state.  _ But the temptation to see Clarke is too great. She opens the door and enters the bedroom, forgetting her thoughts of food. Clarke is the sustenance she needs right now. Perhaps simply being in her presence will make things better.

Clarke is indeed in the bedroom, although not yet asleep. She’s curled up in a chair by the window, flipping through the pages of a book. Her head lifts when Lexa enters, and a warm smile spreads across her face. “Hey, you. How did the one-on-ones go? Any of the other Ambassadors decide to stop being dicks today?”

For a moment, Lexa feels lighter. Clarke’s smile has that effect on her. “I would prefer not to speak on the subject.” Clarke’s face falls, and Lexa’s heart sinks with it. She knows the words are too clipped. Hostile. Clarke doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her bad mood, simply because she’s one of the only people Lexa can express emotions with.

“Okay…”

Angry and ashamed, Lexa removes her cape, preparing to put it with her other clothes. She’ll need it again soon, but she’s desperate to escape the trappings of Heda, if only for a few minutes. The cape feels far heavier than it should today. She removes her shoulderguard as well, and whatever other pieces of armor she can, setting them aside one by one.

Clarke sets aside the book and rises from the chair, coming over to join her. “Is there anything I can do? You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit on your own.”

Lexa snorts. Clarke often refers to her continuing troubles with the ambassadors as ‘this shit’, and it isn’t an inaccurate description. “Unfortunately, I am the only one who can.” And that’s part of the problem, really. No one else can keep the ambassadors in line, or make them see that peace is a worthy goal to strive for. It always has to be her, every time, because she’s  _ Heda, _ and that’s what  _ Heda _ does.

“That doesn’t mean you have to do it alone. I’m here for you, okay? And you have other allies, too.”

That much is true. Some of the ambassadors, and other leaders in positions of influence, have come around to her way of thinking–but not enough of them, and not on Lexa’s preferred timetable. Even those who agree look to her for leadership, and that in itself is exhausting.  _ Even Clarke, my greatest ally, is depending on me to fix this. To keep the peace. _

“Thank you,” she says, but the words come out stilted. Cold.

A furrow appears in Clarke’s brow. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Lexa purses her lips. Shakes her head.

“Did you sleep at all last night? You were still up when I went to bed.”

Lexa doesn’t bother to offer a denial. Clarke will see right through it.

“Okay. We’ll start there.”

“I am not a child,” Lexa protests. “My eating and sleeping habits are no one’s business but my own.”

Clarke is unimpressed. “Not anymore. I’m your partner, so I get to make you take care of yourself.”

Lexa has to stop herself from grinding her teeth. The statement rankles her, although she isn’t sure why. It should be a relief to let someone else worry about her–something she never even knew she needed until Clarke, and still sometimes forgets that she deserves. But it isn’t a relief now, and it only fuels her anger.

“You cannot  _ make _ me do anything.”

“Maybe not,” Clarke says, “but I know you well enough to see what you won’t admit you need.” She steps closer, placing her palm on Lexa’s right shoulder. It feels bare without the shoulder guard, exposed beneath Clarke’s touch, just as she feels exposed under Clarke’s intense gaze.

“And what do I need?” Lexa asks, narrowing her own eyes in challenge.

Clarke raises a brow and adopts a knowing look. Her silence speaks volumes.

Lexa leans in, hesitating a few inches from Clarke’s face. She wants to be sure she’s read the situation correctly. But the way Clarke holds her head, high and proud; the heat in her eyes, burning through Lexa’s defenses; all of Clarke’s body language speaks of confidence and seduction. She’s offering herself, and Lexa is hard-pressed to reject her.

“I will not be gentle,” Lexa says, for honesty’s sake. “Do you still think you know what I need?”

Clarke curls a hand around the back of Lexa’s neck and kisses her.

The heat of Clarke’s mouth is exactly what Lexa hasn’t wanted to admit she needs. Warm and soft and familiar, but also persistent, it causes her to part her lips and groan. Her tongue presses into Clarke’s mouth, desperate to taste, to take. 

Despite her role as Heda, she has much less control over the happenings in the world than most of her subjects believe. But this? This is something she can control. Clarke will submit to her–sexually, at least, and only for a little while–but it is enough. Now, in this moment, she no longer has to worry about other people’s wants, desires, or opinions. The only ones that matter are hers and Clarke’s…and this time, hers will be satisfied first.

She kisses Clarke like she’s on fire, because part of her is. All her tension, all her frustrations, all the feelings she cannot reveal to anyone else come pouring out through her lips. Clarke whimpers at the roughness of the kiss, and the sound sends a shiver down Lexa’s spine.

She isn’t normally rough, nor is she a selfish lover. Clarke’s pleasure matters much more to her than her own. But this afternoon, she needs something different. A reassurance of her own power, not as  _ Heda, _ but as an individual. As Lexa.  _ Heda _ is powerful, but Lexa feels helpless, and she’s so  _ jokking _ tired of it.

“Fuck,” Clarke pants when they break apart. “You kiss hard when you’re pissed.”

Lexa considers offering an apology, but the flame in Clarke’s eyes has not dimmed in the slightest.  _ She is enjoying this as well. Perhaps her motives are not entirely selfless. _ That gives Lexa the confidence to seize Clarke’s waist and walk her back toward their bed, capturing her mouth again on the way. 

After shoving Clarke onto the mattress, Lexa makes quick work of their clothes. She strips Clarke first, groping possessive handfuls of flesh as they are revealed. Clarke is all warm, soft curves, and she yields so beautifully that Lexa feels a sharp ache between her legs.  _ Keryon _ , she wants. Wants to make Clarke’s body her own again and again. To leave her marks upon it, reminders that Clarke will see for days to come.

She removes her own clothes as perfunctorily as possible. No need to make a show of it. They are simply in the way. Clarke stares anyway, her blue eyes going glassy, her chest hitching and causing her full breasts to bounce along with her audible intake of breath. Normally, Lexa would be flattered. Today, she hardly cares. She does not need admiration, merely obedience. 

To demand such, she finishes removing her boots and leggings, kicking them across the floor, and crawls onto the bed, trapping Clarke beneath her. This time, when they kiss, their bodies mold together. Lexa runs her hands along Clarke’s bare sides, following her curves, before seizing her wrists and pinning them to the bed. Clarke’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t resist the hold.

“Be still,” Lexa murmurs, tugging Clarke’s bottom lip between her teeth before nipping further down. She spends a great deal of time at Clarke’s neck, leaving beautiful purple bruises like dark sunspots.

Clarke’s fingers curl into the sheets, but she accepts the hold on her wrists, barely testing it. She only struggles when Lexa licks her collarbone, winding a trail down to her breasts and sucking a stiff nipple. “Shit,” she rasps, trying to reach for Lexa’s head. 

Lexa knows it’s an involuntary response, but she punishes Clarke anyway. She pushes Clarke’s wrists into the mattress and bites down on her nipple hard enough to earn a whimper. Despite what must be mild pain, Clarke offers no objections. She bucks her hips, and Lexa gasps around her prize as wet heat drags along her stomach. Clarke is wet. Wet for her. Not in spite of, but because of the fact that Lexa is dominating her.

She kisses across to Clarke’s other nipple, delivering more of the same rough treatment. Soon, Clarke’s breasts are covered with the same purple bite-marks that line her throat. Looking at them makes Lexa dizzy with desire. The fire in her belly has become a roaring inferno, anger feeding into lust.

Clarke makes a curious sound then, one that Lexa interprets as disappointment. Despite the wild pounding in her chest and the pulsing between her legs, she raises her head to meet Clarke’s gaze. With only a word, or merely a look, she will stop. No matter how great her need, she will never do anything without Clarke’s full agreement.

“Should I stop,  _ niron?” _

“N-no…” It takes Clarke a moment to form words, and her kiss-swollen lips move through a few silent shapes before she manages. “No. You’re still holding back. I can feel it.”

Lexa begins to deny it, but when she looks inside herself, she realizes Clarke is right. A pool of fury and hatred remains within her, and even some self-loathing.  _ Surely a stronger leader would keep the ambassadors in line. A true  _ Heda _ would bring them to heel without all these arguments and delays. Such disrespect… _

She forces these thoughts from her mind, but clings to the emotions they leave behind, knowing she has to deal with them one way or another. Clarke is offering to help, to be a vessel for her anger, and Lexa has never been able to say no to her beloved. All she can do is accept the gift with grace.

“On your stomach,” she orders, her voice cold and devoid of mercy. She releases Clarke’s wrists and lifts off enough to allow for obedience.

Clarke rolls beneath her, raising her ass without being asked. Lexa cannot help but seize it in both hands, kneading the round cheeks firmly enough to make Clarke groan. They are hers, as Clarke is hers, and she will have them as surely as she has the rest. She settles back onto her knees, only mourning the loss of skin contact a little. The view makes up for it. Clarke’s back is a golden expanse of skin yet to be broken, and in this position, Lexa sees strands of wetness clinging to her thighs.

She delivers the first slap without warning, but from Clarke’s reaction, she can tell the blow is anticipated—and appreciated. Clarke flinches and gives a soft cry, but the movement isn’t sharp, and the sound isn’t loud enough to show any distress. She arches the lower half of her spine, raising higher, offering a more enticing target.

That is all the encouragement Lexa requires. She breaks her palm across Clarke’s backside again and again, not counting as she usually does, or making a game of it. She is delivering pain, if only mild, because she wants to. Because it gives her a sense of control. Because she delights in Clarke’s reactions, knowing she is the cause.

And Clarke’s reactions are delightful indeed. Her moans and sighs. The way she rocks back into the blows. The curling of her fingers in the bedfurs. The tossing of her head as she tries to find an even more agreeable position, causing her golden hair to spill about her shoulders. All of it threatens to drive Lexa mad. She rakes her nails up the back of Clarke’s thigh, leaving red lines to go with her handprints.

“Fuck, Lex,” Clarke hisses. “Just fucking  _ take _ me already. I know you need to–”

Lexa bends low, pressing her breasts to Clarke’s back, and seizes her shoulder with a snap of teeth. She holds for a moment, long enough for Clarke to whine and wriggle beneath her, before soothing the bite with her tongue. “I  _ will _ take you, when _ I _ decide.”

Clarke melts at that, just as Lexa knows she will. Her body becomes soft and compliant, and Lexa can smell her wetness. Her need. 

Another day, Lexa might have drawn things out. Forced Clarke to wait. Today, she hasn’t the patience for such games. She thrusts inside of Clarke with two fingers, hardly offering any preparation. Not that Clarke needs it. She’s wet and open and more than ready, and Lexa sinks inside with barely any resistance at all. Clarke squeezes around her, impossibly tight despite the ease of entry, and the twitching of her muscles tells Lexa that she’s close.

“Lexa,” Clarke sighs. Just her name.  _ Lexa. _

For a moment, Lexa forgets her anger. Clarke sees her–as Lexa, not  _ Heda _ –and understands. She pauses, tucking a lock of Clarke’s loose hair behind her ear, and presses a kiss to the nape of her neck before she begins.

After that, she shows no more mercy. She fucks Clarke brutally and without restraint, until the tendons in her wrist burn and Clarke yelps beneath her. Her cries fill the room, alongside the slick, slapping noise Lexa’s hand makes when it hits her outer lips. Lexa relishes the noises, the power, the control Clarke has given her. With only a little resentment, she admits that Clarke was right. This is  _ exactly  _ what she needs.

She’s so focused on purging herself of anger, on  _ feeling,  _ that she doesn’t realize Clarke is on the brink until it’s too late. The smooth heat around her fingers pulses, gripping down greedily, and Clarke’s noises go high and needy.

Lexa considers a denial, but her own desire is too great. She wants Clarke to come—no, to  _ shatter _ beneath her. She increases the force of her thrusts, pushing as deep as possible with each stroke, and hooks her fingers as she pulls out, catching the puffy spot on Clarke’s front wall.

Clarke screams. She goes rigid, trembling from head to toe, and Lexa watches in awe. This is her doing. Her power made manifest. She is the sole source of Clarke’s pleasure, and she has complete control over it.

What follows is a blur. Lexa continues fucking Clarke through her first peak, and pushes her swiftly toward another, bearing down and pinning her to the bed with the full weight of her body. Clarke squirms beneath her, but only to get closer and take her deeper. The smell of sex fills Lexa’s nose, and she breathes it in hungrily. This woman is hers, and only hers.

She isn’t sure how many times she makes Clarke come with her hand. By the time she’s finished, although not yet satisfied, Clarke’s back is covered in bitemarks and dripping with sweat. Lexa drags her tongue over it all, relishing the way Clarke shivers. She can tell Clarke is raw, oversensitive, but she hopes her lover can take more. The selfish fire between her own legs hasn’t been quenched.

Clarke seems to sense it, too. “Let me get you off, too,” she mumbles weakly into the pillow. “You haven’t…”

But Lexa has no interest in allowing Clarke to service her. She grasps Clarke’s hair, pushing her cheek into the bed, a silent order to stay. Then she rises, rolling off the bed to retrieve what she needs.

It takes her only a short long time to find the phallus and its accompanying harness. Both made of fine black leather, they had been a gift from Clarke many months ago. (Before Clarke, she’d had no need for such things.) It had taken some getting used to, but now, she feels confident—eager, even—as she positions the toy and buckles the straps into place around her waist and thighs.

She catches Clarke looking back at her, and returns the lust-glazed stare with a glare of her own. “Hands and knees,” she says, and Clarke clambers into position, her limbs shaking as she does.

The view almost makes Lexa forget her frustrations entirely. Every inch of Clarke is beautiful, from her smooth legs to the curve of her ass, up along the graceful line of her back. Lexa runs her tongue over her lips, admiring the bruises that blemish Clarke’s golden skin.  _ Her _ bruises, on  _ her _ body. She climbs back onto the bed, reclaiming her rightful place.

Clarke’s pussy is a mess. Red, swollen, dripping. Lexa pushes the pouting outer lips apart with her thumbs, watching as more wetness spills free. It’s a beautiful sight, one she wants to utterly ruin.

“Don’t hold back,” Clarke says, gazing over her shoulder to lock their gazes. To convince her of the statement’s certainty, Lexa is sure. “I can take it. I  _ want _ to take it.”

Lexa responds by removing her thumbs and fisting her new shaft, positioning the head at Clarke’s opening. She seizes Clarke’s thighs in hand and snaps her hips, pushing inside with a single stroke.

It’s a good thing Clarke is wet. Under normal circumstances, such an abrupt entry surely would have hurt. But Clarke’s moans are all pleasure and no pain, and her muscles spread easily around the toy’s length, for all they cling to it besides.

As soon as she’s in, Lexa starts thrusting. She fucks Clarke hard and fast and deep, causing both of them to sway with the force. She bends over Clarke’s back, bringing their feverish skin together, relishing the way it slides with their mingled sweat. And she uses every ounce of energy in her body to drive her demons out.

True to her word, Clarke accepts everything Lexa has. All the violence, all the pain, all the frustration. She takes it all and more, and turns it into howls of pleasure that echo around their bedroom. Lexa is in awe of this woman, this  _ goddess, _ who can take her rage and transform it into something beautiful. Something good. Something as perfect as she is.

_ “Klark,” _ she pants into the nape of Clarke’s neck. That name is the only word of love she needs.

“Keep going,” Clarke groans, even as she hisses through gritted teeth. “I’ve got you.”

Lexa hadn’t been open to reassurances before. She had been too defensive, too closed off. But now, driving into Clarke, watching her lover take all she has to offer, Lexa cracks open somewhere deep inside. Clarke was right before. She isn’t alone in this fight. Clarke is more than just an ally, or even another subject to serve—Clarke is her champion.

_ And I will be the same for her. _

Only then does she relax enough to let go and come. Only then is she able to set aside her pain and feel pleasure instead, to accept the rush of relaxation and warmth that suffuses her body, to ride the contractions rippling through her core. Her clit has been rubbing against the ridged seat of the toy the entire time, getting slick and swollen, even though she’s hardly noticed. But she notices now. She can think of nothing else.

Lexa’s hips stutter out of rhythm, and Clarke cries again, coming as well. The rhythmic tightening of her core tugs the buried shaft, and Lexa sucks in a shuddering breath. The sensations, which had been keen as a knife’s edge before, are suddenly soft and fuzzy and overwhelming. She soaks the shorter end of the shaft and the leather straps of the harness, grunting into Clarke’s shoulder without realizing she’s bitten down again.

By the time her orgasm ends, the bite has turned into a dusting of apologetic kisses.

_ “Ai hod yu in,” _ Lexa says immediately after. She needs Clarke to know how grateful she is, to feel the strength of her devotion.

“I know, I know,” Clarke mutters, her face still smushed into the bed. She groans and collapses onto her stomach, and Lexa follows without withdrawing. “Shit, that was good.”

“You did it for me,” Lexa whispers.

“Well, yeah, but. Two birds with one stone, right?”

Lexa can tell part of this show is for her benefit. Clarke is offering reassurance, a reminder that her touch is never unwelcome or unwanted, even while rough and fueled by anger. And she is grateful. If she’d thought for even a moment that Clarke was enduring something horrible for her sake, she would never forgive herself. But Clarke seems flushed and extremely satisfied beneath her. Were she a  _ sofstepa, _ she would have purred.

“Do not undervalue this,” Lexa says, nuzzling the sweet-smelling space behind Clarke’s ear. “The way you care for me is… important. I am in your debt—”

“No,” Clarke says. “No debts. We take care of each other, okay?”

Lexa smiles.  _ “Sha.”  _ Clarke has already taught her so much about trust, about the bonds that can exist between two people other than leader and follower, servant and subject, but she still has so much to learn.

“Want me to come with you to the next couple meetings?”

“That will not be necessary,” Lexa says, but she wishes she could tell Clarke yes. Very much so.

“C’mon. I’ve been itching to give those idiots a piece of my mind. If they’ve got a problem with me and my people, shouldn’t they tell me directly?”

That is a reasonable point, and Lexa latches onto it rather desperately. “Very well. As usual, you have convinced me.”

Clarke snorts. “That didn’t take much.”

“You wore down my defenses long before asking.”

“So, when is this next meeting?” Clarke asks. “Because I think we need a bath first, and I’m gonna have to find something to cover my neck.”

_ Far too soon, _ Lexa thinks, but imagining Clarke by her side, wearing her marks in secret, make her worries of lateness seem distant. She is  _ Heda, _ after all. Others follow her schedule, not the other way around. There are a few advantages to being in charge, in addition to the multitude of problems.

“A bath sounds wonderful,” Lexa sighs, but she makes no move to pull out, nor to roll off Clarke’s back. She merely rests there, perfectly content to keep Clarke beneath her.

“Um, Lexa?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve gotta get off me at some point.”

Lexa groans, burying her face in Clarke’s neck. “Do I?”

“Yeah, but I guess I can give you another minute.”

Lexa chuckles. She suspects that when she does sit up, Clarke won’t want to leave the bed for a while, anyway. They might end up being very late to her next meeting after all—but she can’t find it in herself to care. 


End file.
